


The Doctor, The Soldier, The King

by writeturnlove



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeturnlove/pseuds/writeturnlove
Summary: After several months in cryogenic sleep, The Winter Soldier is awakened in Wakanda. King T'Challa has found some specialists willing to help the soldier conquer his demons in order to become a productive member of society, and eventually a hero. The new doctor assigned to Sgt. Barnes, Dr. Elise Dennison, has a complicated history of her own and is now facing an ethical dilemma because she is attracted to both her patient and her employer.





	The Doctor, The Soldier, The King

**_Bucky_ **

 

            I’m used to waking up in darkness whenever they pull me out of cryo, so the blinding light that fills my eyes when I open them shocks the Hell out of me. For a second, I think I’m dead or dying and seeing the “white light,” then the scent of disinfectant fills my nose. The shit burns my nostrils, but it does make me realize something: I’m alive.

            I should have known.

            I’m not good enough to go to Heaven.

            I know what comes next. First, the chill that has seeped into my skin will start to fade. My body will adjust because it’s conditioned to adjust.

My vision is blurry. I can’t focus on a damned thing. I can only see geometric shapes and flashes of white that I’m assuming are doctors’ coats. Have they found a way to fix me? T’Challa said he would, so I’d like to think he’s right.

            My skin feels damp. My pores are open and I can feel every single one of them. It’s like all the hairs on me are moving, tingling at once. I start to blink through the haze as my eyes clear up and I can see what’s actually going on around me. There are huge windows lining the walls. The room is big, filled with equipment that I don’t recognize; technology that is foreign to me but obviously it’s monitoring my vital signs. I can hear my heartbeat. It’s so strong it almost doesn’t sound human. Maybe I’m not human anymore. There are medical personnel all around me – men and women draped in lab coats and holding tablets or touching holographic displays. I’m not in a hospital, but I hear beeping sounds. I close my eyes for a second. I need to get my mind straight.

            Where the fuck am I? Oh yeah. I’m in the palace in Wakanda. The room I’m in looks about the size of a warehouse, but the design appears to be more like a laboratory. I blink again and notice distance figures approach me. Men and women with serious expressions on their faces begin asking me questions that I can barely understand at first.

            I shake my head, trying to clear a path for them to reach me. Soon, I can make out one voice: a feminine one with a rich accent and a firm tone. She steps in front of me, her hair pulled back into a neat bun of braids. She tilts her oval face to the side and smiles at me with a perfect set of teeth. She’s gorgeous, but I’m too damned tired to flirt with her.

            _Maybe later._

            “Mr. Barnes?” she asks.

            “Yes,” I say, sounding like I swallowed a gallon of gravel. This is normal for me. I clear my throat and try again.

            “Yes,” I repeat, sounding a little better.

            “How do you feel?” she asks, her manner is softer now, more caring.

            I look up in her onyx eyes and am pissed that I’m not feeling better because I really want to try a little charm on her, but I know she wouldn’t have anything to do with me.

            I shake the cobwebs from my head and answer.

            “I’m coming around,” I tell her, still trying to get my real voice back.

            Dr. Pretty Eyes gives me the once over and punches some information into a laptop before motioning for another group of people to attack me with a shitload of devices that I assume are supposed to confirm that I am actually “coming around.”

When she checks my pulse with her long fingers, I note that she’s wearing a wedding ring.

            _Shit. I guess I won’t be flirting with the doc. Maybe T’Challa has another beautiful woman up his sleeve – one that isn’t married or heavily armed._

            After the throng of doctors lead me to a hospital bed, they proceed to poke and prod me, shoving a light in my face and asking me to tell them how many fingers they are holding up. This is to be expected so I’m not even pissed off about it. It’s their job.

            I hear footsteps. The cadence of the walk is steadier than the others. It’s not rushed or mechanical. It’s smooth. It’s the King. I remember sound. There’s a confidence in his stride. He takes his time as he walks to you because he knows you will wait for him. The others in the room part as he steps in front of me. He reaches out his hand and I take it even though I’m still a bit weary.

            “T’Challa,” I say. My voice is weak and distant, but it’s starting to come back to me.

            The general of his guard stands beside him. He introduces me to her: Okoye. She looks at me with disgust. It must be because I dared call the King by his first name rather than his title. I need to remember that she could probably kill me without breaking a sweat, and the only person stopping her from doing so happens to be the man I didn’t address properly.

            Her stance stiffens as she looks at me. She stands just over six feet tall and is dressed in red and gold armor. Although she’s built like a supermodel, her muscles are toned like a trained soldier. Yes. There are knives attached to her sides and I’m certain she would effortlessly slit my throat if I dared pose a threat to her king, so I choose to correct myself since we’ve already gotten off on the wrong foot.

            “Your Highness,” I begin, “I’m sorry. I’m still out of it.”

            T’Challa nods, giving me a smile before speaking.

            “I appreciate your confusion, Mr. Barnes. I know you need time to awaken. I do want to let you know that I have obtained the services of some specialists that may be able to help you. You will begin meeting them at the beginning of next week if you are feeling up to it.”

            “Thank you,” I tell him.

            “I should also provide you an update on your friend, Captain Rogers,” the King says.

            I look up him and I’m worried. The last time I saw Steve, he was a fugitive.

            “Captain Rogers is currently…. how did he put it … ‘Going off the grid’… for a while. He is well, but does not want to be contacted at this time. He assures me he will make contact soon to check on your progress,” T’Challa continued.

            I nod my understanding. The fog is beginning to lift and I realize I’m damned hungry. My stomach growls loudly, much to the amusement of the King, who gives me an embarrassed grin and then directs a young man to have the kitchen prepare me something to eat. From the corner of my eye, I can see Okoye glare at me. She seems to have a perpetual frown on her face. There’s no way I’m going to win this woman over, so I’ll settle for just not pissing her off.

            She turns to the king and says something in Wakandan. The King gives her a quick gesture of confirmation, then she looks at me again, her expression softens a bit…a very little bit.

            “Mr. Barnes, if you will follow me, I will take you to your suite,” she states. It sounds like an order, so I stand on wobbly legs and follow her because if there is one thing I automatically understand, it’s following orders.

            We walk through a series of corridors until we reach what appears to be the residential wing of the palace. I follow her long strides in silence, trying to take note of where we’re going and knowing I’d be lost if I didn’t have someone leading me around. This place is massive. I try to memorize every hallway and every turn I take.

            We stop at a door in what appears to be the center of the building. She finally turns around to face me and, without a word, opens the door and guides me inside.

            “Your dinner will be brought to your suite, Mr. Barnes. Until then,” she paused briefly, as if the words she was about say caused a bad taste in her mouth, “make yourself at home.”

            “Thank you,” I said with a smile that seemed to catch her off guard. She blinked quickly as her face softened enough to acknowledge my unexpected politeness. Okoye then shut the door behind her.

            Silence followed. I’m used to that. The suite looked like a small apartment. The walls were beige and lined with artwork. The main room contained a sofa and recliner. An oak bookshelf sat against the far wall. I scanned the books shelved there. It was filled with literature from various countries, including America.

            The suite also contained a small kitchen that I wouldn’t use because I can’t cook, but having a fridge is nice. I opened the door to find mostly water and juice. No beer. No liquor at all. I’m guessing the King doesn’t approve of such things. I’m going to have to loosen the guy up when I get myself straight.

            I walk through the suite and find a bedroom with a decent sized bathroom attached to it. I know I should lie down but I’ve been asleep for god knows how long.

            I make my way into the living room and randomly pull a book from the shelf. I flip through the pages of Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass” as I think about what’s about to happen. I don’t look forward to meeting with a bunch of experts over the next few weeks. If they can cure me, that’s fine, but Hydra dug so deep into me, I don’t know if anyone can get it out. I don’t want to remember, but I always do. It comes to me at night when I dream. God, I hope someone can make them go away; the nightmares. I never asked for this.

            I come upon this passage in the book I’m only barely reading:

 

            _The earth recedes from me into the night,_

_I saw that it was beautiful… and I see_

_That what is not the earth is beautiful_

 

            After 30 minutes or so, my food arrives. Someone figured that burgers and fries would probably be a safe bet to feed me on my first night. I shovel it down because I haven’t eaten and I need to remember what it feels like to be human. The food is okay, but a beer would be nice. I swallow an entire bottle of water and take a shower. I flick off the light and close my eyes. This is when the demons come. This is when I see them: the faces of the men and women I killed. These are the ghosts I try to hide from. These are the demons I fight.

            I do need a cure or I might as well have died falling from that train.

           

****

            The morning comes so fast I don’t even remember the day turning into night. I find a note slipped under my door, requesting that I get dressed and be ready by 9 a.m. Dressed in what? I don’t have any clothes. Then it occurs to me that the King probably had this figured out, so I check the dresser in my room to find several sweatshirts, t-shirts, pants, etc.

            The first couple of weeks go by in a blur. I can’t remember all of their names, but T’Challa assured me that they were all experts from around the world that specialized in treating conditions like mine. Each day I’m taken to what looks like a hospital room where I meet the doctor. They all look the same to me: faceless people in lab coats that sound like robots. I get asked the same questions over and over again. If this is supposed to help me, it’s not.

            I go to my suite each night, shower, and pick up one of those boring books from the shelf and hope it makes me tired enough to go to bed. I don’t want really want to dream. I have someone new to meet tomorrow. This one is supposed to be different, but I doubt it. My head hits the pillow and after five minutes, I pop back up again.

            I turn the light on and start searching my room for something else to do. I figure I’ll write to Steve even though I don’t know when or if he’ll get it. I find a pencil and a notepad and start writing. It doesn’t matter what I say. Steve is family. He’ll understand.

           

_Hey Steve,_

_Well, I’m out of the freezer for the moment. T’Challa promised he’d get this to you. He said you didn’t want anyone to now where you were. I respect that. I also understand it. I’ve been known to disappear for a while myself. Sometimes it’s necessary and with everything that went down, I’m sure you need it._

_As for me… the King said he might have found a way to help get the Hydra crap out of my head. I wish I could be optimistic about it. We’ll see. He’s a good guy. He’s also a bit serious for my taste._

_I swear, you’d think a man that surrounds himself with so many beautiful women would smile more, but he doesn’t. Maybe I can help him tarnish that squeaky-clean image of his someday._

_He’s lined up experts from around the world: neurologists, psychiatrists, therapists, etc. I’ve already sent four of these “experts” packing. They were smart, but none of them had any heart. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn. I don’t tolerate a lot of technical crap._

_T’Challa has one more he wants me to meet. It’s some guy he went to college with – Dr. El …. I can’t remember the guy’s name. He’s a psychologist; another expert in psychobabble. This one is from the States – the only one he’s brought over here from the U.S._

_T’Challa thinks this doc will be a better fit for me. We’ll see._

_Take care of yourself._

_You know where to find me if you need anything._

_‘Til the end of the line, brother._

_Buck_

 

***********

Another morning comes and I’m back in the hospital room waiting on a new doctor to come and see me. I can’t remember the name, but T’Challa says this one is from America, which is a first. Most of the others were from somewhere in Europe – just a bunch of stuffed shirts with no personality.

            After a few minutes, I hear talking in the hallway. I brace myself because I know I’m going to be answering the same questions all over again. I feel the weight of it on my shoulders even when I know I’m supposed to be positive.

            A soft knock follows the chatting outside my room.

            “Yeah,” I say into the emptiness of the room.

            When it opens, I look up at my new doctor and know that things are about to get messy. Her shoulder length black hair frames her perfect, honey-brown face. Her big brown eyes look up at me with hope and she gives me this sweet smile that makes me forget pretty much … everything. She’s wearing a white blouse and a pair of dark blue jeans; nothing like the other doctors that have walked in my door. She looks like the girl-next-door and god I wish she were just the girl next door because I want to –…

            “Mr. Barnes,” the doll-faced doctor says, “I’m Dr. Elise Dennison.”

            _Yeah,_ I say to myself, _this is about to get very messy._ **  
**


End file.
